


Proper Action (and Shakespeare)

by irisbleufic



Category: Hot Fuzz (2007)
Genre: England (Country), Films, Homecoming, M/M, Recovery, References to Shakespeare, Theatre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-01
Updated: 2009-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-01 21:03:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An homage to what proper action is (or isn't) about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proper Action (and Shakespeare)

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies to Dire Straits, to whom, unlike _HF_ 's fearless director, I cannot afford to pay royalties for making use of lyrics (as sub-headers in this story) from their song entitled "Romeo and Juliet."
> 
> (Originally written and posted to LJ in January of 2009.)

 

**It's Just That the Time Was Wrong**

"Pretty quiet night otherwise," said Danny at length, scuffing carelessly at the gravel as they strolled along. "What about the rest of the production?"

"Hm?" Nicholas blinked at him, instantly sorry he'd let his mind wander.

Danny's smile was as soft and patient as ever. It was, Nicholas had to admit, starting to grow on him. He had only been able to tell himself it was the flattery of having someone hang on his every word for about the first week, during which time there had also been the annoyance factor. After that, there was no reasonable way of accounting for it. And in Nicholas's experience of the world thus far, fondness was _not_ reasonable. It was irrational, sap-ridden, and sometimes dangerous.

Danny rolled his eyes—good-naturedly, as he often did. "You know. I mean the bits _besides_ the only convincing aspect, which we've thoroughly covered by now."

"Well, I wouldn't say it was an homage to _Shakespeare_ ," Nicholas said, shoving his hands more firmly in his pockets. They were inclined to pursue untoward actions, such as companionably clapping Danny's shoulder. Nicholas was quite sure they hadn't known each other long enough for that sort of thing.

Danny raised his eyebrows, interested. "Yeah? What d'you reckon it was, then?"

Nicholas stopped dead in his tracks and proceeded to stare at him.

"You haven't seen that film version that came out several years ago?"

"What film version? I bet there's loads, and I ain't much for Shakespeare, usually."

Nicholas gaped. "The one with what's-his-face. The guy from _Titanic_."

Danny gave him a vaguely worried look. "You know an awful lot about chick flicks."

"My ex had a soft spot for them," Nicholas admitted, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Or, rather, she had a soft spot for making me watch them with her. I think she enjoyed making me suffer well before the end was in sight."

"Oh! You mean the kid from _What's Eating Gilbert Grape?_ —I heard about that, and I thought, man, what a shame. It must've been frustrating, going from Oscar nods for your acting merit to Oscar nods for merely having been part of _completely_ epic drek. So who directed this travesty, and why'd our Am Drams deem it homage-worthy?"

Nicholas shrugged and started walking again, lest his hands escape his pockets and plant themselves firmly on Danny's shoulders. The last thing he needed was to explain was why he'd felt the overwhelming urge to kiss Danny on the cheek.

"Baz Luhrmann, whose work's not all bad. Have you ever seen _Moulin Rouge_?"

Danny's face lit up like Christmas.

"Aw, _yeah_. There's this bit in it, right, where Nicole Kidman's rolling around all crazy on the floor? If you pause it at just the right moment, you can see her tits!"

Nicholas sighed, then smiled. It was a start, anyway, and all crises had been averted.

 

**Nearly Gave Me a Heart Attack**

"So," began Danny, conversationally. "This is pants, innit?"

Briefly, Nicholas bit his lip so as to keep from crying. He hoped Danny wouldn't notice.

"Yeah, it kind of is. But look," he said, rather too brightly, grabbing the remote control off Danny's bedside table and offering it to him. "You've got Sky TV!"

"They ain't aired nothing but _Harry Potter_ for three bloody days," Danny sighed crossly. "And I don't know which one, neither. Did Janine make you watch those?"

"No," Nicholas said, collecting himself with a deep, soothing breath. "Thankfully not."

"Auntie Jackie loves 'em. Says it saves her having to read the crap books."

"That's some pretty successful crap," said Nicholas, thoughtfully. To prevent his hand from shaking, he tucked it firmly around Danny's nearest wrist and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Surely they'd known each other long enough and shot at sufficient individuals together for something along those lines to be appropriate.

"I bet Shakespeare wouldn't approve," Danny said, patting the back of Nicholas's hand. In spite of being the one lying there full of stitches and tubes and fuck-knew-what-else, he somehow managed to sound more reassuring than Nicholas. "And pretty soon, the Am Drams'll be staging shit homages to Hogwarts. The _horror_!"

Nicholas laughed in spite of himself, lacing his fingers with Danny's as if it were nothing to stand here for hours on end regardless of whether Danny was awake or asleep. It wasn't, really. Nicholas could think of nothing else he'd rather be doing, and although part of him was wondering if he ought to find that kind of scary, he didn't.

Danny turned on the television and flipped to the nearest channel directory.

"Look," he said. "There's a film in half an hour. At least I _think_ it's a film. Something long. Why don't you pull up a chair?"

 _Because I can't reach you if I'm sitting down_. "Because—well, I could—" Nicholas squinted at the screen. "Are you positively sure you'd like to spend the next three hours watching a decently scary black-and-white version of _Macbeth_?"

"Hey, Shakespeare!" exclaimed Danny, weakly, proud of himself for having recognized the title. "But why's the screen say it's called _Throne of Blood_?"

"It's Kurosawa's adaptation," Nicholas explained, scanning the room halfheartedly for something to sit on. "Set in feudal Japan. Very effective in spite of the complete dialogue overhaul and anachronistic—"

"Yes," Danny wheezed, tugging on Nicholas's hand.

Nicholas's chest tightened. "Yes what— _Danny_? Are you—"

"Yes, I'm positively sure." In spite of how pale he was, Danny looked even more pleased than when Nicholas had mentioned _Moulin Rouge_. "And it's not so much that it's Shakespeare, really. It's that you're here. Now, go get that chair by the other bed."

"Wasn't somebody in it?" Nicholas asked, unable to keep from grinning stupidly.

"The bed or the chair?"

"The bed. The chair. Both."

"Pensioner lady," Danny said, letting go of Nicholas's hand. "She was sweet enough. Died this morning. Nobody would tell me when I asked, but I pretended to be asleep and overheard the nurses talking about it. Kind of figured, though, what with her husband sat there sobbing for an hour after they'd wheeled her out."

Nicholas held Danny's hand through the entire film, uncomfortable stretch be damned.

 

**Fall for Chains of Gold**

"That," Danny announced, sitting back with a drunken sigh, "was kind of rubbish."

"I don't know," Nicholas said, taking a stab at the remote control where it was sat on the arm of the sofa. He'd been aiming for _EJECT_ , but he'd managed to turn the volume up full blast instead. Several seconds of hazy fumbling set the blaring credits back to rights. "I find it sort of endearing, Calista Flockhart aside."

"What, I ask," Danny ventured, burping not-so-discreetly behind his hand, "was with the bicycles? Not that it wasn't innovative, but those squeaky horns got annoying."

Nicholas had barely been listening, on account of the fact that Danny's other hand was rather worryingly pressed to what Nicholas knew to be the slowest healing patch of his abdomen. Nicholas gave into reflex and covered Danny's hand with his own.

"I should've picked a shorter film," Nicholas muttered, rubbing his forehead, somewhat ashamed. "This is no way to welcome you home. You need rest."

"No," Danny said pointedly, "I need more _beer_."

" _No_ ," Nicholas countered, letting his thumb brush down to Danny's knuckles. "What you need is to go to bed. I wasn't to let you drink in the first place."

"Only had one," Danny mused, shrugging. He'd rotated his hand in Nicholas's grasp so that their damp palms were pressed flush for an instant before their fingers laced effortlessly together. "Nicholas, I'm _fine_. It's a bad habit. I poke at things."

"Well, stop...poking," finished Nicholas, lamely, finally letting out his breath. "You had me worrying, which is...also a bad habit." Nicholas looked away briefly, loosening his collar. The room had grown unbearably warm over the course of the evening, and he suspected that Danny's nearness had something to do with it. Even worse, he was no longer clear on what was proper what wasn't.

"Would Puck have to drug you, too?" Danny asked, slurring a little.

Nicholas turned back to him, blinking. "I'm not sure I caught—um, _what_?"

Inexplicably, Danny was already reaching for Nicholas's collar. A few seconds later, however, it became abundantly clear that what he'd been reaching for was not, in fact, Nicholas's collar, but the chain around his neck. He hooked his index finger under it—carefully, _so_ carefully for as tipsy as he seemed—and tugged until Nicholas leaned forward so that their foreheads were touching. Proper had flown the fucking _coop_.

"I like that," Danny murmured. "Looks good unbuttoned, all glittery and...stuff."

 _I can definitely reach you from here_. Nicholas swallowed. If he took advantage while Danny's tolerance was down and his senses were dulled by painkillers, he'd _never_ —

"He wouldn't have to drug _me_ ," Danny said matter-of-factly, "and no, it _ain't_ the Co-codamol talking, in case you were about to ask." He kissed Nicholas then, brief and insistent. "Does hurt a bit, though, and I'm _dead_ tired."

"Bed," Nicholas croaked, untangling Danny's fingers from his chain. "I mean, not like _that_ , of course, seeing as you're...and..."

"Stay, though," Danny said, leaning into the curve of Nicholas's neck. "Please?"

"No," Nicholas murmured, then shook himself out of it. "I mean— _yes_! Yes, I'll stay, but no, to answer your question, he wouldn't have to—"

"Fuckin' know that already," Danny yawned. "Get us out of here?"

One of those bicycles, Nicholas reflected, wouldn't have gone too far amiss.

 

**You and Me, Babe, How About It?**

" _Oh_ ," Danny gasped. "Bloody _hell_ , but I've lost the plot."

That he could remain so coherent whilst doing what they were doing with what was arguably one of the play's most intense scenes unraveling in the background, Nicholas couldn't begin to guess. That was mostly because they were stretched out on Danny's bed, both of them more than half naked by now, with various body-parts getting in the way of a full view of the screen at any given moment.

"Well," Nicholas said with an effort, "Hamlet is about to be...sent off to... _um_. Here."

Nicholas closed his eyes and latched back onto Danny's earlobe, thrusting up against his abruptly well-placed thigh. What he _could_ guess at was that this was exactly what Danny had had in mind when he'd asked Nicholas to move the telly into the bedroom. After all they'd been through, proper action could go _hang_.

"Makes sense," Danny mumbled against Nicholas's collarbone. "We're the only country I know of with worse weather than Denmark. Mum wanted to— _aaah_ —see the Tivoli Gardens in winter. Big... _big_ mistake, but you can keep doing—yeah, _fuck_ yeah. That."

 _I am going to Hell for ignoring one of Derek Jacobi's finest early performances in favor of sex_ , Nicholas thought, _and I don't even believe in it_. At this rate, the BBC and the RSC could go hang, too. If Danny kept moving against him just like _that_ -

"Oh. Oh, _God_. Danny. _Danny_ , just..."

Just _nothing_. Just the thudding of his heart and Danny collapsing against him with a satisfied huff, followed by two full minutes of the most undignified, clingy kissing that Nicholas had ever engaged in. Failing God, he'd beg forgiveness of the RSC later.

"That was really fuckin' hot, you know," Danny informed him sleepily.

Nicholas considered the dialogue they'd tuned back in on. "If you mean subtextually appropriate, then yes—I can see that. Normally, that scene with Horatio's cut."

"Doesn't end well, does it?" Danny asked, lazily tangling his fingers in Nicholas's chain. "I hope everybody just gets offed, ker- _splat_. That way, it's so over-the-top it's funny."

"Almost everybody," Nicholas admitted, pressing his lips to Danny's forehead. Even in the face of what was coming, even _knowing_ , he couldn't quite face it, not in the wonder of _this_. "But not enough of everybody, I'm afraid."

Danny ceased his fiddling with the chain and fished around in the pillows above their heads until he'd found the remote control. The screen flickered and went silent, heart-wrenching ending safely out of sight. Satisfied, he chucked the remote on the floor.

"Let's save it. I'm sure it's good and all. It's just..."

"Yeah," Nicholas murmured, nodding as he traced the shape of Danny's smile.


End file.
